


Broken

by TheLadyOrTheTiger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Body Image, DLC Spoilers, Depression, Disability, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Physical Disability, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyOrTheTiger/pseuds/TheLadyOrTheTiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning to Skyhold from the Winter Palace, Trevelyan fully realizes what she's lost, despite having saved the Inquisition. She succumbs to depression and subsequently tries to build a new life for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night Alissa Trevelyan lost her arm, everything changed. She remembered stumbling back through the eluvian to her friends. The rest of the journey was a haze to her. Dorian and Cassandra carried her, and when they reached the Winter Palace, there was already a team of healers waiting for them. Of course there was also Cullen who gripped her tightly and thanked the Maker she was alive.

In a moment she was being ripped away from him and placed on a bed. The healers quickly determined that the only thing that could save her was cutting off the mark, along with her arm. There was no other possibility. Numbly, Alissa nodded at them and told them to do it. Someone gave her a potion and she slipped out of consciousness.

When she woke up, the first thing she felt was relief. She was dying when she went under, and now somehow she was still alive. Cullen was dozing in a chair by her side and she smiled at him. He didn't lose her, their greatest fear of being forever separated didn't come to pass. The natural desire to touch him arose, and then reality set in.

She couldn't reach out to him. There was just this stump at her left side and from her elbow down - nothing. Her mind started racing. _'I'll never... Never again...'_ The thoughts of all the things that were going to be impossible for her came crushing over her, and she began crying, waking Cullen up.

"My love," he whispered reverently, embracing her.

She let him hold her as she cried, let his words of joy at her survival comfort her. She was alive, despite everything, miraculously alive, and that was all that should matter. And there was much to be done. She had to face the council and save the organization she's build, no matter how flawed it has become. The Inquisition still had a purpose and deserved a second chance. She had to focus on that, so she stopped thinking about herself, banished the thoughts of what was going to happen to her personally, and stopped crying. After disentangling herself from Cullen's arms, she kissed him briefly, and told him to gather the rest of her advisors.

Everything was happening incredibly quickly then. Meetings, discussions, strategic planning - it was a whirlwind. Trevelyan didn't even pay attention to the fact that she was being dressed up by her servant Gertrude or that all her meals were already cut into small pieces for her. There were more pressing matters than her personal comfort.

In retrospect, those were good times. Never before would she characterize playing at politics as something she missed. She had fire and passion within herself then, she was fighting, without respite, focused and determined.

After the decisions have been made, after she succeeded, just like she knew she would, it was time to return to Skyhold. The journey provided something of a distraction, still not letting her think too much about what she's lost, but the thoughts started creeping in. Getting on a horse and riding one was a challenge. She was constantly trying to reach for things with her left hand, only to realize that she couldn't grasp them. Not wanting to dwell on the anger and sadness that was building within her, she would ride harder, concentrating on the burning in her legs.

They arrived at Skyhold late in the afternoon and there was only time for unpacking, a quick supper and then blessed sleep.

The next morning Alissa woke up surprisingly early. Wanting to get a head start on her day, she went to dress up and found that she couldn't button up her jacket. She could wake Cullen up and ask him for help, but the idea made her nauseous. He was the one who undressed her, not the one who put clothes back on her, as if she were a child. Instead she pretended to sleep until he went off to work, and waited for Gertrude to come and dress her.

She could manage, she told herself, she could learn to do things differently, order new, simpler clothes.

As always, when she wanted to get away from unpleasant thoughts, Trevelyan reached for a book and... couldn't hold it with just one hand. The only way she could read was to place the volume flat on the table. Since the book was new and its spine uncracked, it kept on trying to close, and so she had to awkwardly pin it in place with her good arm and then remove it each time she wanted to turn the page.

At this point her mood was very sour. The poor book sailed across the room. She needed to take a walk, breath some fresh air. She could handle this. She's been handling this for weeks now. Why was now so different?

The walk proved to be a mistake. Her eyes latched onto all the people fighting in the ring in the courtyard. She would never do that again, she realized. The thought was at the back of her mind since the operation, but she was able to push it away then, to lock it in deep so that she wouldn't let it consume her. Now, with nothing else to do, she focused on it, letting her mind fully encompass the horrid future. Never. She would never fight, never hold her blades, never charge into battle. Never, never, never. The word was like a terrifying chant.

Who was she? The question made panic grip her throat. She wasn't a rogue anymore. She couldn't pick a lock to save her life and she couldn't hold her blades. Her blades, which felt like extensions of her arms, a vital part of her. Now she was incomplete, would remain that way forever. She was nothing.

A scream was building in her throat, she felt like shouting, raging, destroying things. It was too much, too much.

How could this have happened to her? After everything she's done, after she's saved the world. The unfairness of the situation made her furious. It was like a nightmare. Or rather it felt like the weeks back at the Winter Palace were a dream and now she was waking up to the nightmarish reality.

Was this insanity?, she wondered. It was almost like her mind wanted to fall to pieces, since the thoughts were too much for her to handle.

And then Varric was at her side, casually asking when they were going to play Wicked Grace. In that moment all that anger and confusion left her in a rush. She laughed. One short bitter sound. She couldn't play cards. Not with one hand. It seemed paradoxical that such a small thing proved her undoing, but there it was.

Trevelyan said nothing and walked away from Varric, who fortunately didn't try to follow her. She went to her chambers and laid down on the bed. There were no more thoughts in her head, no more feelings, just a strange, heavy void. Something told her to fight it, but it was too hard. It was much easier just to give in, to let the nothingness claim her, wipe away the present and future, replace the pain with indifference. She didn't have to do anything, and so she did nothing. Just lay in bed, looking at the wall.

All that was happening to her since then, she observed as if she were not herself, as if those things were happening to a stranger.

She was dimly aware of Cullen coming to the room, asking her questions, but she blocked him out. She slept. In the morning she heard the worry in his tone. He wanted her to get up, to eat, but what was the point?

He was with her for a long time, she supposed, trying to convince her to do something. Then there were others. Josephine, Dorian, Varric. It was easy to ignore them.

After an undetermined amount of time, they left her. That was good. Just peace and quiet. She slept. When she woke up, she was a bit hungry, but not enough to get up. Cullen was back at her side again, murmuring things. He lifted her up into a sitting position and tried to feed her. Some dormant part of her stirred at that. She wasn't going to force him to take care of her. She whispered that she wanted Gertrude. The servant came and Alissa let her spoon some sup into her mouth.

Once that was done, Gertrude asked Cullen to leave so that she could change the Inquisitor's clothes. He protested, but in the end went away. The servant hummed under her breath soothingly as she took Trevelyan's dirty clothes off of her and cleaned her with a wet cloth. After she was dressed up again, Alissa fell back asleep.

In the next days it all became a monotone rhythm. Gertrude feeding and dressing her up, people coming and going, talking endlessly in voices that were trying to be reassuring and optimistic. ' _You have to get up, there are things to be done, you have so much to live for_ ,' they all told her. She looked at them sometimes. A small part of her agreed with them, wanted to respond, yet she didn't.

It was like she had two souls in her body, two different minds. The one that wanted not to give up was trapped, surrounded and smothered by the one that just wished to remain motionless for the rest of her empty life.

Her friends returned every day, each time trying a new approach. If joking wasn't working, they tried to be stern, then they tried to be cheerful again. They pleaded and begged and screamed and ordered. She did nothing in response.

When she was alone, sometimes the small part of her would win for a moment. She would get up with great difficulty, move a bit, look out of the window, reach for a book, and then it would be too much again, so she would returned to bed.

 _'You're lucky to be alive, you could've died_ ,' her friends, one by one, told her. Maybe they were right?, she thought. But then she wondered if death wasn't better than this, than being broken beyond repair. In the end it didn't matter. She just dismissed the words.

Cullen wasn't as easy to ignore as everybody else. He spoke to her constantly. In the morning, after he woke up, in the afternoon, when he took his meal in their chambers, in the evening, before he went to bed. She caught bits and pieces of his words. He was never angry, at times sad, but unlike anyone else, he never raised his voice.

He didn't sleep much, she knew from the sound of quick breathing behind her. She didn't sleep much during the nights either. She wanted to tell him that he needed the rest. That small part of her at times screamed for her to help him, but somehow she couldn't.

Sometimes Cullen cried. He might have thought she was asleep then, but he still tried to keep quiet. She felt a pang in her chest at that, that old longing to sooth his pain resurfacing, but when she opened her lips to speak to him no words would come out.

Every night Cullen held her, as she laid on her left side, her stump covered by her body, and she would allow it, not having the energy to move away. That deep part of her craved that touch, desperately, wanted her to turn around, bury her head in his chest, kiss him. But what was the point? She was ugly, disfigured and useless now. She wasn't who he married.

One night he didn't touch her. She felt him hovering, wanting to do something, but in the end he gave up, laying on his back with a heavy sigh. That was the moment she had a real feeling again. She hated herself, deeply and fervently. She should be strong for him, should not break him with her own brokenness. She made a promise to him, to carry his burdens with him, to be there for him. They thought she was going to die and there she was, alive in body, but in mind as good as dead. It was no foe that did that to her. She did it.

"Cullen," she whispered, surprised to hear her own voice after so long.

"Alissa?" There was hope in his tone as he sat up behind her.

"I'm sorry," she managed to say.

"Don't apologize, there's no need," he told her earnestly.

"Yes, there is." Her voice raised a bit, which shocked her. Having real, strong feelings was bizarre.

"I'm so glad you're back with me. The rest doesn't matter."

It did, but she didn't have the energy to get into a conversation.

"Hold me again," she pleaded instead.

"Of course."

He pressed closely against her back, lacing their fingers together. Alissa felt tears slipping out of her eyes at that gesture. Cullen held her tightly and murmured soothing things into her ear until she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning was odd. She felt better and far worse all at the same time. Being able to have feelings again seemed right, after that immeasurable time she spend without them. Feelings had potential of being pleasant, promised change, yet now she was experiencing just fear and shame. Fear of the future filled with the simplest tasks being challenging, and shame at the thought of people seeing her in such a pitiful state.

Trevelyan tried to ignore it at the Winter Palace, but she felt the eyes of courtiers and servants alike boring into her. People felt sorry for her. She was not fearsome or attractive to them. She was a sad sight, and it chipped away at the remnants of her confidence.

Never before did she think of herself as vain. Alissa knew she wasn't a great beauty, but there were appealing qualities to her. Now she couldn't bear to look at herself. In the Winter Palace she avoided mirrors and turned her head when she coughed the sight of her formal clothes bound over her stump. No one would ever look at her with desire again, her figure or the glint in her eye overlooked, because there was only one thing that grabbed everybody's focus.

She knew Cullen loved her still, but he fell in love with a whole woman, a woman he considered beautiful. What he had now was a cripple. That word stung, ugly and painful.

Disfigured, useless, broken cripple and her perfect husband. She never wanted to see them together, to have Cullen look at her. Only when she was laying on her side did she appear normal, what remained of her arm hidden under her body. Maybe she should stay like this forever, pretending that she was fine?

She realized that she was crying only when she felt Cullen tighten his arm around her.

"Look at me love," he whispered.

Instead of answering, Alissa just sobbed harder, starting to change her mind on having feelings. It hurt too much. And maybe it would've been easier for Cullen as well if she just lay there, not demanding anything of him.

"I'll just turn you on your back..."

"No!" she managed between sobs.

"All right, we'll just stay like this, then," he said gently, placating her.

"It's alright, go on, you have important things to do," she told him in a more or less even tone, managing to reign in her tears.

"And leave my crying wife alone? I think not." His hand clenched over her stomach.

"Do go, please. I can't..." Her voice broke. "I can't have you looking at me. I just can't bare it."

"Why?" This one word was packed with complete confusion.

"Because you married a pretty girl, and you grasped her hands, and had her hold you in her arms, and now I'm useless, broken and so very ugly." She could barely say that. To hear it, out loud, was somehow worse, more real than when this were just thoughts floating in her head.

"How can you say those things? You're not ugly or broken," Cullen protested.

He sat up, probably trying to glimpse her face. In a childish move, Trevelyan rolled on her stomach, her disfigured hand under her.

"Talk to me, love," Cullen pleaded as she remained silent.

She wanted to tell him so much, but there were no words, no breath left in her chest.

"Don't shut me out again, please." The desperation in his voice tug at her heart.

"I won't go back to... the way I was before," she offered, hoping she wasn't lying to him. "I just need to be alone."

There was a pregnant pause. Cullen was probably weighing his option. In the end he relented.

"I'll be back at dinner," he told her, and kissed her head.

He shuffled around the room, gathering his things, while Alissa remained with her face pressed into the pillow. When he left, she wearily got up. She was going to have to talk to him, but what she was going to say, she didn't know.

For now she had to start doing simple things, she couldn't remain motionless in her bed. Now that her feelings returned, the small part of her was stronger, urging her to be active, to try living again.

The thought of going downstairs overwhelmed her, but she could sit at a table to eat. When Gertrude came with her breakfast, Trevelyan noticed a smile on her servant's face upon seeing her out of bed. She almost smiled back.

Eating porridge now was no different from back when she had two hands. Alissa felt embarrassed thinking about the fact that she made Gertrude feed her for so long.

While being dressed up, Trevelyan tried to participate, grabbing some garments herself, pulling them on. When this was done, she brushed her own hair, letting it fall loose, not trying to put it in her customary ponytail.

This was manageable, she decided. She wasn't doing so badly. Just as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it. She couldn't congratulate herself on doing the simplest chores. Was this to be her life? Being proud of eating a bowl of porridge instead of killing a dragon?

She wasn't yet thirty and her life was already over. No more adventures, no more exploring, no more fighting. Just sitting around, remembering the old glory days, missing things she could never have again.

The bed called to her. The simplicity of giving up, accepting her fate, and letting things happen to her, around her, was very appealing.

With supreme effort she resisted, staying seated at her vanity. She promised - no going back, so she sat there immobile, staring out of the window, for how long, she could not tell.

A joyous gasp startled her. It was Josephine. With obvious pleasure at seeing her out and about, her friend started talking animatedly. Trevelyan wasn't paying much attention to her words, nodding from time to time, still solely focused on just sitting upright and not crawling back to bed.

Josephine's monologue was cut short by Cullen's arrival.

Having them both there, Alissa felt trapped. They could see her and she needed to hide. It was illogical - they've seen her like this countless times before, in the Winter Palace. But then she was too concentrated on their mission, too preoccupied, and after, in her dark weeks, she didn't care. Now she did. Her gorgeous husband and her beautiful friend, looking at the broken remnants of her.

Focused on her internal panic, she didn't even noticed when Josephine left.

"It's wonderful to see you out of bed and not hiding from me." Cullen tried for a light tone.

"I'm really trying, you have to know that I am," she told him in a hushed voice. "But I'm just... It's too much. I'm too broken."

"You're not broken," Cullen insisted, moving close to her.

"I am. Can't you see that?" she asked desperately. "Or no. Don't look at me."

Why didn't she hide? Why did she allow him to keep looking at her?

"Do you really believe that I see anyone else but my beautiful wife?"

"You see a cripple." The word was like a blow she was delivering to herself. "That's what everyone sees. I never thought I would miss the days when people didn't see me, but rather the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor. Those titles had power, strength, they were like armor. Now all I'll ever be is a weak pathetic cripple."

This was the longest speech she's made in weeks, and she felt drained.

"I see you. I always saw just you, and always will. My perfect wife." Cullen knelt down before her. "And the rest of the world sees their savior. You are still the Inquisitor, the symbol of hope."

It was all wrong. She was not perfect. And now she was really only a symbol, or rather a historical figure, someone best left to the scholars of the future, not the living. She was of no use to anybody. She wanted to tell him that, but it was too much effort, so she just shook her head.

"I love you," Cullen said, after waiting for her to speak up for long moments.

"I'm sorry," she responded. She loved him, always would, but what good was that?

"What for?"

"For what I've become." Trevelyan wasn't sure if she meant her arm or her state of mind. Probably both.

"You came back. You're alive. You fought, just like you said you would, and I have you here. It's a blessing."

He was right in a way. She did come back, she had to sacrifice something, but it was not her life.

At the same time, she did sacrifice her life - the only one she knew and understood. Yet Cullen was glad, relieved. She thought back to before her final fight with Corypheus, when she imagined Cullen alone, wasting away without her. They avoided that.

Or did they? She was putting him through a different kind of suffering now. Yet she couldn't just snap out of it, couldn't return to what she used to be. Was she too selfish, indulging in her despair? At this moment she was just tired.

"I need to sleep," she informed him, and without waiting for him to respond, she went to bed.

She was only pretending to be asleep when Cullen came over and kissed her head before leaving. When he was gone she could easily fall asleep, but didn't remain in that state for as long as she thought she would. When she woke up, Gertrude was setting down her meal. Alissa got up. Whatever she felt, she wasn't going to be fed anymore. She would take her meals like an ordinary person. After finishing, she took the wet cloth from her servant, and washed herself. It felt good, a bit more normal. Swallowing the bitter lump in her throat at having to clean the ugly stump, she kept going. Putting on her night dress by herself was simple enough, yet it still exhausted her.

Laying back in bed, she couldn't sleep. Her mind was active again, didn't want to succumb to dreams so easily. She was at war with herself. She didn't want to feel pain and cause pain to those around her, but feeling good again seemed all but impossible. Trying to remain positive drained her. She couldn't lie to herself, couldn't pretend like things would get back to normal, and couldn't imagine that her new life would be anything but a long stretch of painful mediocrity.

Years upon years. If she were lucky (or unlucky, she wasn't sure which) she would have some fifty or even sixty years to live. What she could've accomplished in that time, what exciting things she could've been doing if she were still whole. Out of that time she could have conceivably squeeze out at least thirty more years of fighting, of adventures. Not anymore. Her life looked like an interminable hell - watching people around her do what she loved and had to abandon. Would she grow resentful of them? Bitter and angry?

She was crying again, sobbing and howling, and then when her body was tired from her exertion, came the sweet oblivion of sleep.

In the morning she woke up when Cullen stirred, and waited for him to leave. He was at the stairs, when suddenly she called out to him.

"I love you too," she said, surprising even herself.

He was turning back to walk to her, but she shook her head.

"I'm not ready." The burst of optimism that forced her to speak to him has dwindled.

Cullen looked disappointed for a moment, then smiled reassuringly and nodded.

"I'll be there when you are," he declared, going down the steps.

That morning it was Dorian who visited her. All her friends should have returned to where they were meant to be, but they came once more to Skyhold with her, for old times' sake, and after she fell into her state, they remained, probably wanting to see her through it. It was too much and Alissa felt guilty again. They had so many important things to do, yet here they were, even though they really couldn't help her.

Whatever was in her future, theirs was unchanged, and she had to let them get back to it. Even if she didn't feel like it, she had to reassure them that she was fine, so that they would go their separate ways.

With that plan in mind, Trevelyan asked Dorian to bring over the chess set. She was no master at the game, but moving the pieces on the board required only one hand.

Dorian was very pleased and constantly tried to make her laugh. He was indeed very funny, but she couldn't laugh, not yet, even to reassure him, so she just smiled and spoke in short sentences.

When Cullen came for dinner, she sat with him at the table. His smile at the sight was radiant and it forced her to smile back slightly. She asked him to talk about his day, and he did, filing the silence she knew she couldn't.

In the afternoon she made another attempt at reading. This time she picked an old book, which opened easily. Laying in bed, she propped the book on her slightly bent legs, and it stayed that way, allowing her to turn the pages easily. It was a joy to be again able to do what she loved.

Keeping busy - that was the key, she concluded. One day at a time. If she looked too far into the future she was going to succumb to the misery again. For now she had to erect a barrier to keep those thoughts away, just like in the Winter Palace. Her goal was to see her friends off.

From that moment on, each day she would ask Gertrude to invite one or more of her friends to her chambers. She would talk to them, ask them about their plans, try to act normal. Sometimes it exhausted her beyond measure. Just talking, putting on a mask of bravery, was too much, but she still didn't go to bed until after she's had her meal with Cullen. She would let him hold her hand afterwards, smiled back at him, and at times it almost wouldn't feel forced, at times when she looked into the adoring eyes of her husband she forgot what's become of her.

Everyone seemed pleased, talking more and more freely around her, not treating her as if she were a barrel of powder about to explode. They still weren't eager to leave, so Alissa tried harder. Each morning, in front of her mirror she practice smiling and laughing. With every passing day it looked and sounded more and more natural. People were fooled, and she was a bit fooled herself.

When she finally came down to the main hall, having just this morning done her make-up for the first time in months, people beamed at her and greeted her with honest joy. It appeared that those outside of her inner circle were told she fell sick. It was the truth, she supposed. What she was experiencing was some kind of sickness of the mind.

A smile plastered on her face, she joked about the Winter Palace making her sick. People laughed and it felt right. She could still be amusing, if she really wanted to. That part of her remained intact.

When she came to his office, Cullen was over the moon. He held her close and kissed her. It was brief and sweet, but still too much. The words _ugly_ and _broken_ rattled inside of her mind. She felt like recoiling, but kept her ground.

Cullen wanted to take her for a walk around the battlements but she declined. The image of her perfect husband seen with his disfigured wife made her want to cry. Instead she offered to have a meal with him in his office.

After some days, reassured by her behavior and cajoled by her teasing words, one by one, her friends left. It was not forever, they told each other. They would visit, she would visit. There were tears shed, but they were good tears.

When the last of them left, things begun to take a turn for the worse again. She had no goal, and keeping busy was starting to prove a challenge. She would walk around the castle, speak with those who remained, answer letters, read. Now that she was aimless again it was easier to feel pain at the sight of people in armor, carrying weapons, easier to cry over a book that promised tales of adventures.

Her relationship with Cullen was odd. She couldn't speak to him freely for fear she would just start sobbing. She knew he felt the strain, the things unsaid hanging in the air between them.

Cullen told her about his days, discussed her small activities with her, and never pushed, never demanded anything. He would hold her and kiss her and never try for anything more. She was grateful for that, since she wasn't ready for any form of intimacy, but at the same time a nagging little voice was telling her that he didn't want her anymore, that he loved her, yet couldn't desire her.

The break in their stalemate arrived when Cullen came to their chambers earlier than usually and found her crying over a piece of armor that she found in her drawer, somehow lost with old letters. Momentarily he was next to her, embracing her.

"It's alright." Her voice didn't sound as convincing as she wanted it to. "I'm really fine, just being silly."

"Please, don't lie to me."

"I'm..." She couldn't say that she wasn't lying. "Don't worry about me," she told him instead, pulling away.

"I can't." He shook his head sadly. "You're shutting me out in a different way than before. I don't want to rush you, but just give me a chance. Say what's really on your mind. I'll try and help you."

"Help?" she choked on the word. "I'm beyond help." She didn't mean to say it, but the words were now spilling out of her mouth. "I'm broken, unfixable."

"Why would you say that? You're..."

She didn't let him finish.

"I'm nothing - a broken, useless cripple." When he opened his mouth to argue, she lifter her hand to silence him. "I can't fight. I'll never hold my daggers again. Never." Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she went on with her speech. "Ever since I was a young girl they were an essential part of me. They made me who I was. They defined me. I'm nothing without them. I'm not me. What worth do I have? What's my use? I was a leader because I could fight and close rifts, and now I'm nothing. Less than nothing. I've had the taste of power, of strength, and it was ripped from me. I can't help people, I can't even help myself."

Alissa stalked to the window, away from him. She wanted to cover her face with her hands, but couldn't even do that. She screamed in frustration.

"You're not broken or useless. There is still so much you can do." Cullen embraced her from behind. Trevelyan wrenched away from him.

"What would you do if you couldn't hold your shield anymore? If you were never going to fight again? If you were doomed to spend decades of your life just looking on at people doing what you'd never be able to do again?" she asked angrily.

Now she did sound bitter, but she couldn't help it. The painful thoughts resurfaced, and she couldn't restrain them.

"I... I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I can't imagine it. And watching you go through this... But it's not about me. It doesn't matter what I feel. It's about you. And you are strong, you'll..."

"I'm not!" she screamed. "I'm weak and pathetic. I've lost all that mattered to me and now there's no future."

Once the words were out of her mouth she realized what she'd said. Cullen's face fell.

"I didn't mean... I... I'm the worst wife that ever lived, the worst person. I'm so sorry."

Her knees gave out from under her and she was on the floor, sobbing. Soon Cullen was beside her, his arms around her, and he rocked her.

"I know you didn't mean it that way. You're a perfect wife," he murmured into her hair.

"I'm not good for you. I'm not good..." she kept on repeating.

"You're perfect. You're here. That's all that matters."

He was right. She was alive, she didn't have to leave him. So why wasn't it enough? It should be enough. Did she love herself more than she did him? Was her disability worse than his life-long grief would have been, had the mark killed her?

"I don't know, I just don't know," she moaned. "Who am I? What am I doing?"

"You're not your arm. You're not your daggers. You're Alissa Constantia Trevelyan Rutherford. You're the Inquisitor. You're smart and kind and funny. You're a leader, a friend, a wife. And this are just the most important things. There's so much more. You're still you," Cullen told her, sounding as sure as she felt insecure.

She wanted to be comforted by the words, but wasn't. Not entirely.

"I am all of those things, and yet it's less than I used to be."

"You're just different. You can be many new things."

"I don't want that. I want things to be the way they used to." She sounded like a child, stubborn, refusing to face reality, to move forward, stuck on things that could not change. She hated that. Hated the person she'd let herself become.

"I know love, I know..." Cullen told her with infinite tenderness.

They sat on the floor for a while. There were no more words to be said. Cullen couldn't magically take her pain away, but despite what she thought before, it felt better to get things out in the open, to communicate again.

"I'll go to sleep now," Alissa finally said. It was her go-to response when things were too difficult, when she couldn't handle her emotions. "Maybe you'd like to eat supper in the main hall? I'm not hungry."

She didn't want to have him see her fumble with her clothes as she prepared for bed, to see her naked.

"I won't disturb you," Cullen said, kissing her brow, before walking away.

He still wasn't pushing, just accepting, letting her do things at her own pace. She just wished it would all be worth it for him one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw someone on tumblr writing about the Inquisitor with Furiosa's hand and I thought it was a great visual, and since my brain is weird I imagined the Inquisitor with Jamie Lannister's golden hand. And then I thought of the Inquisitor acting like the Black Knight from Monty Python and going all "'Tis but a scratch" and "Just a flesh wound". Next I remembered how the creepy owner of the Black Emporium wanted to buy her hand and how happy he would now be to be able to get it. 
> 
> Too soon? It's kind of a tonal shift from the chapter, but I sob and sob and then my brain tries to fight back the sadness with weirdness. And then I share it. So I hope it didn't ruin the chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos would be appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day she didn't pretend to be asleep. She greeted her husband with a smile and talked with him while he dressed. It was so normal, it almost scared her. They didn't come to any kind of resolution the previous evening, but something has changed. Being honest changed her. And maybe, just maybe, thanks to that, she could push herself forward.

That day Alissa didn't go out, didn't read or write. Instead, she concentrated on what it was that she wanted her future to be. Pushing away the fanciful thoughts of her arm suddenly materializing, she dug deep, trying to see a realistic picture.

The Inquisition still existed. Solas was still out there, plotting the end of the world as they knew it. He had to be stopped, that was for certain. She couldn't just give up.

That was a revelation. So simple and so profound. She wouldn't give up, wouldn't stand by as the world fell apart. That was not who she was. She couldn't fight with her blades and that's why she thought herself useless. But was she, truly? There had to be other ways in which she could be useful.

For one, she knew Solas like no-one else, knew his history, his behavior. That was an advantage they could use, an advantage only she could provide.

During her travels she's read countless tomes, amassed knowledge unattainable to others. She was no scholar, but she could study more closely everything she's gathered, try to understand what they were going up against.

Languages. That's what sprung to her mind next. She's always had an aptitude for them. Other than the common tongue, she spoke orlesian and antivan, and knew the basics of rivaini and tevene. Why shouldn't she master the ones she wasn't fluent in? And why not try to learn qunlat and all she could of elvish? She was no diplomat, but being multilingual would certainly make communicating with representatives of those nations easier, and would greatly aid her in her studies.

She's gained experience over the years, could asses danger, make decisions under pressure, understood strategy. She could be an advisor to Cassandra. Just like Lelina and Josephine were for her. They did not fight, yet were still supremely useful.

Cullen was right. She was not her daggers. In her despair she seemed to have forgotten that she fought not only with her blades but also with her mind. She would miss her weapons - their weight in her hands, the way the air sang around them as she slashed, the feeling of strength, bordering on invincibility, she experienced when she held them. Her heart lurched. That dark place within her called to her again. Never. She would never use them. That thought was persistent, overshadowing the positive plans she's made just moments before.

"I am not my daggers, I am not my arm," she said out loud. "I am more. I am whole."

She cried then.

"I am whole," she whispered to herself over and over, not believing, but wanting to, so badly.

Exhaustion settled over Trevelyan again, and so she went to bed. She wasn't defeated, she told herself. The next day she would do something to move forward - gather books, send inquiries to find language teachers. She would not let the dark place consume her.

Cullen's arrival in the evening woke her.

"I'll be alright one day," she mumbled to him, before falling back asleep.

Just as she promised herself, starting the next day, Alissa begun putting her plan into motion. After responding to the new batch of letters, she wrote a few of her own, to some of the most prestigious universities, asking if they would be able to provide her with adequate teachers.

Once that was done, she set out to the library to gather all the research she had on the ancient elves. On her way to the library, a thought struck her. She wouldn't even be able to carry more than one book at a time. She couldn't pile them on her arm. Biting back a cry, she went up the stairs. _'I'm not broken, I'm not broken,'_ she repeated to herself. In the end she had to ask the librarian to bring the research to her chamber.

The next days flew by quickly. While re-reading the books she found and notes she took on her journeys, Alissa decide to make a small journal filled with things she remembered Solas saying, things that were never put in any kind of report, things that might have sounded innocuous at the time, but could prove important in the future. This task also proved time-consuming.

In the coming days she received responses from the universities, and after careful deliberation, picked those that most appealed to her. The teachers had to put their affairs in order, but in a matter of weeks they arrived, ready to help her.

Trying to remember complicated grammar rules, getting constantly confused by a particular spelling pattern and making odd sounds, trying to get the accent just right proved to be more enjoyable than Alissa anticipated. The intricacies of languages were something she could get lost in. Her rapid progress made her proud. Here was something she was good at, something which was a challenge for average people. It was not an arbitrary achievement, like when she managed to clasp her jacket. This felt normal.

Despite those intellectual successes, Trevelyan still felt a hole in her life. She couldn't very well live just the life of the mind. Her body needed to be active. Honing her skills with her daggers used to be her primary concern. This road was closed to her now, but there had to be something else.

A thought struck her when she was passing the practice dummies Cassandra left behind. In the Winter Palace Alissa saw Tom Rainier throwing knives. Back then she teased him about his accuracy, or lack thereof. Maybe that was something she could try? It would not let her return to the field of battle, she knew, but it would allow her to be active, to retain the ability to defend herself, to not be completely removed from what she loved.

With a plan in mind, she headed off to the smithy and left Harritt with appropriate instructions. She didn't expected an express job, but just the next day, a belt with a fine set of throwing knives was ready and waiting for her.

The only problem was finding a space to practice. The thought of doing it out in the open terrified her. The soldiers remembered her as quick and deadly, efficient and graceful in her fighting. She didn't want them to see her clumsy attempts at doing something new. In the end Trevelyan demanded that the space under her chamber be properly cleaned and steps leading there rebuild. She wasn't sure why she haven't asked for that months or years before.

It was good to exercise, to sweat again. Each day her aim was improving, until every one of her knives reached the bull's-eye. Encouraged by that, Trevelyan decided that it was time to take her skill to a new level. A stationary target was too easy, so she decided to ask Cullen for help. He would go down to her training room with her and throw smaller and smaller objects for her to pierce with her blades. It felt incredible to see the amazement in his eyes at her impressive new skill.

Once she was sure of herself, Alissa emerged into the training grounds, exercising in broad daylight, where she had more space and fresh air. The decision to do that was not an easy one. She felt more or less comfortable with Cullen looking at her, but other people looking at them together made her uneasy. Yet she knew it couldn't be avoided. If she wanted to return to normalcy, she had to be able to walk next to her husband in public.

The risk proved to be well worth all her nerves. After witnessing her skill, some of the soldiers she knew started asking if they could throw things for her. Soon she was knocking down several objects thrown at her simultaneously to the sounds of loud cheers from the people gathered. Those were some of the most empowering experiences she's had since she's lost her arm. There was amazement, and not pity in the eyes of people looking at her, and that made her feel stronger.

Some days she was proud of herself, but some days she wanted to sneer at herself derisively. Throwing knives was a neat trick, not a skill fit for battle. She would not defeat a dragon by throwing knives at it, wouldn't fell a demon that way. On the other hand, the more optimistic side of her mid offered, she could kill a mercenary bandit or a wild animal with her knives, and that was not something to dismiss.

For a time she contemplated trying the qunari technique of throwing spears, but soon realized that it would not work for her. She was never particularly powerful physically, relying on her speed and the element of surprise. A spear was great for qunari warriors with their long muscular arms. She could never hope to replicate their power, no matter how much she trained.

Trevelyan reminded herself not to get her hopes up, not to imagine impossible scenarios, but still she wanted more. Knives were great from a distance, but what if someone attacked her up close? Her adventuring days were over, but the days of people wishing her and her organization ill weren't. She would not cower in fear, expecting to be protected by soldiers or bodyguards. One dagger was not enough. What she needed was a sword. Unfortunately this couldn't be just any sword. She wasn't as strong as Cassandra, could not use one of the weapons she preferred. This had to be light, perfectly balanced, adapted to her style of combat.

Harritt was tasked with finding and modifying the perfect schematics for the blade and haft. The job was not easy, especially since he was a perfectionist, and Alissa didn't expect immediate results. She was informed of every new possibility and waited eagerly, but patiently, in the meantime going about finding a competent teacher who could understand the needs of a person in her situation.

Cullen was kept abreast of the new developments, and appeared very happy. He never alluded to things she did not mention herself, didn't ask what she saw in her future, just accepted what she gave him and commanded her efforts.

Even though she kept busy, they spend more and more time together, playing chess, talking, and practicing with her knives, their relationship slowly returning to what it used to be.

Despite the passage of time, there was still something separating them. Alissa always found a way to not let him see her undress. It wasn't so much that she was fumbling with her clothes, as she's gotten rather proficient at putting them on and taking them off. She just didn't want him to see her naked body, now disfigured.

For that same reason she wouldn't permit him more than a long embrace and a quick kiss. It was the complete reverse of the beginning of their relationship - now she was the one who was proper and restrained.

It has been months since they made love, but Cullen never asked her why she moved away from him, never demanded anything, respecting her wishes. If ever a flicker of disappointment flashed over his face, he would hide it quickly.

It was so strange, they used to take every opportunity to be intimate, couldn't get enough of each other, and now that part of their life together was gone. Alissa missed it, but couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. That made her feel broken again, despite positive strides she's made in other areas of her life.

She had to accept herself, she realized, renew her confidence in her own body, before she would be ready to share it with him again. One afternoon, after a particularly enjoyable lesson with her tevene teacher, in a fit of bravery, Trevelyan stripped herself completely and stood in front of the small vanity mirror, stepping away to see as much of her body as she could. When she stood a certain way, her left arm not visible in the mirror, she saw the body that she remembered, the body that served her so well, that brought her so much pleasure, the body that Cullen loved. Then she moved, and the arm was, or rather was not, there in the reflection, and it was grotesque. So many parts of herself that she came to love, so much attractiveness, now ruined, incomplete.

A gasp from behind made her jump, trying futilely to cover herself up. It was Cullen, who apparently came for supper much earlier than normally. They stood, facing each other, not saying anything. Alissa was frozen in place, wanting to hide herself, yet unable to move.

After his initial shock wore off, Cullen's gaze swept over her naked form, stopping at her hips and breasts, as if he were drinking her in, his eyes filled with lust. She almost forgot that feeling, the heady pleasure of being desired. For a moment she was able to bask in it, until she remembered her arm, and turned sideways, hiding the stump behind herself.

"I'm guessing you weren't trying to seduce me, then?" Cullen asked. "Should I leave?"

"Seduce? How would I...?" Alissa furrowed her brows. In her condition there wouldn't by any seducing ever again.

"You're right. You never needed to seduce me. Especially not now that I'm your husband." He smiled at her gently, his eyes still not staying on her face for long.

"Did you want to...? Would you like to...?" She was going about this all wrong. A slight tremor run through her. Did _she_ want to make love now? Or ever? A part of her was very eager, but she still felt insecure.

"Me? Of course." The way he said it, without any hesitation, made Alissa feel better. "Only if it's something you'd like to do."

"I don't know," she admitted. "Unless... Would you do something for me?"

"Anything you want," he instantly responded.

"Would you keep your eyes closed?" Trevelyan asked timidly. That was the solution she sought. If he were not looking at her she would feel much more free.

Cullen looked puzzled.

"For some reason I feel like this isn't a fantasy you've waited for three years to share with me," he said cautiously.

"No. It's... Never mind." She was embarrassed about her body and embarrassed about the fact that she was embarrassed. She didn't want to talk about her ugliness anymore.

"Wait!" There was an edge of desperation to Cullen's voice, which made Trevelyan stop from reaching for a shirt. "No. I'm sorry. I'm a terrible person," he quickly added.

"Why would you say that?" After all he's done for her, how patient, kind and loving he was, how could he describe himself that way?

"You're clearly uncomfortable, but for a moment I just wanted to ignore that and take you up on your offer - to close my eyes and be with you again, not caring about your motivation. Could you forgive that?" The way he looked at the floor, not meeting her yes, clearly showed how ashamed of himself he was.

"As you've said - I made an offer. Why shouldn't you agree to it?"

"Because you're not sure, you don't really want it."

"Isn't that my decision to make? I want it. I just don't want you looking at me." When she said the words she understood how true they were.

"Why?"

"Why?!" Alissa turned to face him again. "Because of that." She indicated her stump. "Because I'm ugly, disfigured. Because it'll never be like it used to. I'll never hold you with two arms, I'll never touch you in two places at once, I'll never get on all fours. How could you stay aroused while looking at this?"

Now she cradled her left arm to her chest, hating it, but feeling oddly protective of it.

"It doesn't matter. You're still beautiful, still perfect to me. It won't be exactly the same way it used to, but it still can be spectacular." He made a tentative step towards her.

"How can you say that it doesn't matter? Doesn't this repulse you? Doesn't it distract you from everything else?" she pressed on.

"How can you even say things like this? Nothing about you could ever repulse me," he stated, sounding nothing but sincere.

"Don't you care that your pretty wife is now disfigured?"

"I thank the Maker every day that you're with me. The fact that you're missing an arm is not important. I mean... It is important. To you. It made some things more difficult for you and some things impossible. I hate the fact that you had to give up so much. Your pain, your grief - I wish I could take it from you. If it could've been me instead of you, I would've given my arm without a second thought."

Tears were gathering in Trevelyan's eyes at Cullen's words.

"I wouldn't have let you."

"You'd have to stop me, and when I'm determined, it's near impossible to do that." He smiled for a moment, before he turned serious again. "Unfortunately I can't make that trade, no matter how much I'd want to." He shook his head. "That's not the point I wanted to make. What I wanted to tell you is that whatever you think about that arm, I don't feel the same way. It didn't change anything for me. You're still my beautiful wife and I'd like to make love to you and be able to look at you. I miss you."

He walked several more steps towards her, carefully, as if she were a wild animal which could get frightened and run away at any moment.

"I'm sorry. All those months... I couldn't... It's still so hard to believe you don't care about it, while I care so much." Trevelyan stumbled over her words.

"I'll always want you. If our positions were reversed, wouldn't you still desire me?"

"Of course." Her response was immediate, instinctual, and in that moment she realized how absurd her behavior was. She would love this man and crave his touch no matter what happened to his body. For him it was just the same.

Timidly, she closed the gap between them, going on her toes and kissing him. She didn't pull away quickly, like she did for the past months. Instead she let herself go, opening her mouth, tangling her fingers in her lover's hair. His response was swift and all but overwhelming. With a groan, he gripped her hips as his tongue met with hers. It was as if a floodgate has opened up, all their long denied feelings pouring out.

"I have to pull those damned gloves off," Cullen panted, moving a fraction away from her and ripping his vambraces and gloves off.

"And do something with that chest plate. I really thought the times when I had to put up with it digging into me were over," Alissa teased. Just saying that, making light of a situation, felt natural, right. This was who she was, who she was trying to be again.

"As my lady commands." Cullen flashed her a grin that made her breathless, and with great speed and efficiency he took care of his armor and most of his clothing, remaining in just his breeches.

Trevelyan almost forgot how glorious he looked naked, all lean muscles and golden skin. She didn't have long to stare at him, though, as he fell on her, kissing her and roaming his hands over her body. Soon leaning down to her level became too inconvenient and Cullen grabbed her ass and lifted her up, so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. His eagerness made her giggle and gasp.

"I love the sounds you make. I love to hear you happy," he mumbled against her neck, placing openmouthed kisses on her skin.

"Get me to bed and I'll be making all kinds of noises," Trevelyan promised.

In a heartbeat she landed on her back on the mattress with a gentle bounce. Cullen smiled sheepishly at her and she laughed. How was it possible that she went on for so long without that?

Her laugh turned into a moan when Cullen kissed her again, and then moved down her neck and over her breasts. It was as if he was reacquainting himself with her body, mapping it again, his hands on her thighs and hips, his mouth on her torso, kissing, licking and sucking.

When his fingers and lips finally met between her thighs, Alissa was already trembling. She pulled gently at his hair, the way he liked it, and delighted in the sounds he made. He was like a man starved, licking at her hungrily, humming at her taste. It didn't take long for Trevelyan to be coming, Cullen's name loud on her lips. It was perfect bliss, her body pliant, her mid at ease.

Soon her husband was moving up her body, kissing her mouth again, and despite her previous orgasm, she needed him again, inside her. Without much finesse, but with plenty enthusiasm, she worked the laces of his breeches open and reached inside to stroke his cock. The choked sound Cullen made, between a gasp and a groan, was music to her ears. Impatiently, he removed his last garment, and let her guide him into her.

When they came together, Cullen fully sheathed inside of her, they moaned almost simultaneously. It wasn't sweet or slow, how she might have imagine it. It was better. Hard and desperate, Cullen pushing into her quickly and deeply, his hands holding her hips firmly, Alissa wrapping her legs around his middle, meeting his every thrust, her nails digging into his back.

This time as well, her completion was swift and overwhelming. Cullen followed her almost immediately, roaring his climax. When he fell on her, heavy and sweaty, she felt truly happy. The pang of sadness at being able to run only one hand down his back was easy to push away in that state.

Cullen desired her, treated her just like before. He wasn't holding anything back, acting like she was some porcelain doll, liable to break under the onslaught of his passion. That, more than anything else, reassure her.

"How was that?" he asked, after rolling to his side.

"Have you heard me?" Trevelyan smirked at him.

"Oh, yes. I could listen to you all night long." He grinned back at her.

"Good then. That's what we'll do. You can also cancel all your plans for tomorrow. We're making up for lost time."

"Sounds like a plan. Just give me a moment."

Alissa placed her head over Cullen's chest, listening to his breathing, contented for the moment.

Was she fixed? She didn't know. She's found a purpose in her life again, discovered new ways she could be useful, devised a kind of substitute for fighting with daggers, and now she allowed herself to feel physical love again.

She's come a long way from that dreadful moment when she realized that the mark on her hand was killing her. Nothing was going to be the same again. She would be lying if she claimed that she wouldn't do almost anything to have her arm and her previous life back, but that was not going to happen. The only way was forward. In looking back and hoping for the impossible laid only madness.

She would push on, make something new and exciting of her life. She had her studies, her work, her friends, and most importantly, the man she loved.

"Are you there?" he asked her.

"Right here. Just thinking good thoughts," she reassured him.

"That's great, but could I possibly interest you in less thinking and more moaning?" he suggested with a predatory grin.

"I like the way you're thinking," she told him, smiling and moving on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this I remembered a scene from Bertolucci's 'The Dreamers' in which Eva Green walks into a room topless, her hands bound behind her back with a black cloth, imitating Venus de Milo. She looked incredibly beautiful, and so does the original sculpture. I wanted to work into the story a piece of dialogue in which Cullen would say that he saw the drawing of a sculpture like that in a book, and tell Alissa that just like the sculpture, she doesn't look less perfect because she's lost a part of her body. Obviously I didn't manage to do that. I just couldn't find a place where it would feel natural, but I still wanted to share this, because I think that it's a nice image.
> 
> Anyway, I hope the story was somewhat enjoyable. Thank you for embarking on this angst-travaganza with me. I... couldn't help myself. I'm sorry. I just love puns.
> 
> Comments and kudos would be much appreciated. [my tumblr, if that's your thing](%E2%80%9Dthe-lady-or-the-tiger.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9D)

**Author's Note:**

> I've finished playing the dlc Wednesday afternoon, sobbing at any mention of the possibility of the Inquisitor dying, and when it was over I continued sobbing, thinking about her fate. I started writing this just after the credits rolled, obviously still sobbing. On Thursday I was writing and not so much sobbing as occasionally crying hard. On Friday I've finished and I felt better. I've come to terms with the ending, by making Alissa come to terms with her future. Amazing what ten thousand words and buckets of tears can accomplish.
> 
> So, the story is basically done, I'm just editing the next chapters. I promise a happy ending. I wouldn't have it any other way.
> 
> Comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated.


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